


Diary of the Traveler

by Noid



Category: A Nightmare on Elm Street - All Media Types, Friday the 13th Series (Movies), Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Astral Traveling, Gore, Horror, Rambling, diary entry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2019-09-30 10:53:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17222660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noid/pseuds/Noid
Summary: Multiple chapters of me, someone who travels dimensions to test the waters of how awful these horror figures can actually be.





	1. Chapter 1

Entry #1

Entry Name: Haddonfield

This entire diary entry is not for people who absolutely adore Michael Myers so much that they want to fuck him. Sorry monster fuckers. But I need to lay out what I want to say here.

I'm an astral traveler. This means, that in my sleep, I will disassociate hard enough to where my soul ( I think) leaves my body to go out and explore. Usually, the soul will leave the body in exploration and will generally cross dimensions or parallel worlds. That's why some lucid dreams feel so real or why you feel like you can barely move in the morning. I don't mean an ache, I mean like you feel like your body is probably coming out of a coma.

It's not good to try and focus on it while sleeping but I do it anyway. 

Right now, I'm going to tell you that visiting Haddonfield wasn't on my to-do list but I guess as someone who enjoys horror movies way too much makes my soul just zip off. It's the equivalent of "Ooh, shiny!" like a dumb bitch. 

I visited the little town of Haddonfield, Illinois. If I recall correctly, this isn't an actual place in the dimension I live in?

Haddonfield is an adorable, clean-cut suburban area. There are kids smoking on the curb, with hair fluffier and curlier than the current 2000 years. There were cut jeans, shirts tucked in, red lipstick fad and the everloving other 80's stuff that completely scattered its love for pop like butter on hot toast. The streets were paved well, with cars around every sidewalk that was used for cruising calmly. The vehicles themselves were old Buicks, which chugged gas but a lot of them had the adorable, fuzzy dice on the rear view mirror.

I'm pretty sure if I sniffed any of them, all I would smell was either the fresh car smell or pine. No in-between.

Some things were a blur though. It was night time if I recall. Pumpkins were lit, ready and waiting for Halloween day on all of the porches. Scarecrows were in almost every yard and hay bales were planted squarely in front of everyone's gardens that probably smelled of good ol' pesticide. Yum.

I don't think I ever saw Laurie strode but there was someone I did see, and boy I wonder if you can guess who it was.

As someone who has had constant nightmares, I was really, really surprised to get this same feeling of horror. It was stomach-dropping and it left a cold handprint on the abdomen. Tall, dark and gruesome stood on the street, watching Laurie from the side. 

I know it was him, you can't tell me I might have been dreaming. With that mask on his head and his jumpsuit blending in with the darkness, it was like watching a headless man float around. It's _horrifying_ watching this man, watching him while he stalked, observed and analyzed the situation of where he could go, how he could get there and what not. If that's what he was even thinking. 

I hated looking at him. I hated it but I couldn't stop staring. It's the same way when you see something awful but sometimes you can't turn away. In a way, this man was a creature that was able to waltz around on the streets, unnoticed by many due to one special holiday. He might have had a goal and it just so happened to be Laurie Strode. No one knows but people have had their educated guesses, that much is for certain.

The question of "Did he ever see me?" is not one I can answer easily. Even if he did, he probably didn't care.

For the love of God, children went  _by_ him without a care in the world. People walked  _around_ him because they sensed no danger from him.

_People did not sense Michael Myers was dangerous at first glance nor second glance._

This hulk of a man, who can pin someone to a wall with a single knife stab and kill without a single flinch of remorse, was being overlooked and considered safe in the dead of Halloween night. There is nothing scarier than just knowing that there's something wrong with someone and for people to never notice it, or believe it. 

I don't plan on going back there. I don't want to go back to that timeline and fuck things over or get stalked by Mikey, nonono.

You do that. I am not. I like keeping the skin on my face because there is no way in hell this man feels anything for anyone. 

**Anyone.**


	2. I don't do titles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, snarky and I can never shut the hell up.

Entry #2

Boiler Room

 

Nightmare on Elm Street was a movie I'd gotten into only after my teen years. Then again, I guess that was when I got into all of my horror crazes. Slasher films became an antique to me, an obsession where I'd never tire of watching them. The melodrama and shitty or nonexistent CGI or special effects were something to really behold. Not only that but after watching it enough times, certain parts became simple eye-rollers. You knew what was happening and you finally figured out how cheap it was.

But I think that's the best part about old slashers. 

There was a rumor I'd heard several years ago that Freddy Krueger was a demon that could be summoned through a ritual into your dreams. It was recited before sleep and apparently he would appear in the dreams. Of course, I have no idea what kind of commencement it was. My only assumption is that it's his song being said. 

Freddy is a dream demon. That is his realm. Once you freely walk in, you're basically fucked no matter how many crucifixes or holy water you have. Sure, it'll stave him off since you took it with you, but the biggest problem is that you have to wake up to escape. Anything you do is in vain and only pleases him.

See where I'm going with this?

Well, long story short, I went with it.

I know. I'm smart.

I'm not going to say I was brave about this. I actually wasn't at all. The entire time I was quivering at my knees, even while laying flat in my own bed. I had my own blessed water; salt water. The salt is there for purification standards. Remember how people use salt to line their windows or doors, or salt circles? Salt wards off negative energy through their ions. I can't remember the details but, essentially, that's why you see it. Putting it with water makes a make-shift holy water, I suppose. I'm no priest or religious person but going in alone with just a bottle of salt water wasn't going to be enough.

I went in anyway.

When I astral travel, I let myself drift consciously. I try to find the place and usually? I get where I need to be. This took several tries, honestly but I didn't care. The only reason I kept doing it was because I got braver each time and I was still curious about it all.

I remember getting there. It was like a vacuum that just suddenly dragged me out of my own body. Or more...into the dream world? It's a bizarre way to explain it at all. All I can say is that I knew it generally what happened only  _after_ I woke up.

The boiler room is a really hot place.  _Really,_ really hot. You walk in and your palms sweat first. It's like meeting an important person and your palms are more oily than ever from anxiety. This wasn't even from anxiety. This was just from heat that could probably kill a person. 

There were a lot of temperature gauges hanging around on rusted metal, I remember. They were all passing up to the blue or red line, into the darkened zone that read "DANGER" in bold lettering. It resembles that kind of danger that you come across when you're a kid and you first see the scary lettering. You want to touch it but you know better. It's an angry kind of sight, too. Color and bold lettering combined makes it unnerving to see. It was especially unnerving when steam hissed freely in the pipes, to where you don't even need to get that close to feel it's heat.

It's absolutely sweltering, swelling with pressure of extremely coarse steam and the color red. The fiery shade carries like a dramatic curtain call, flowing through endless upon endless corridors that are claustrophobic. You can't smell anything but hot steam, as if you opened the door to a freshly steamed set of dishes from the dishwasher. It's wet but the burn inside your nose is almost unbearable. There was, sometimes, something that accompanied it.

I can't tell if it's the iron from metal or blood. Could be both, though, knowing Krueger. 

It's all brick or ironwork, really. Everything is a spot that can soak in the heat of the boiler room and keep it for an extended period of time.

I can recall the piss-poor holy water bottle stinging my hands with how hot it was getting. I wondered if the plastic lid would melt but I don't think it did. I'm sure if I had any plastic on me, such as earrings, bracelets or even fake nails, they would melt fast.

But I wouldn't know.

There's a conversation that I wrote down in my notes. I remembered it somewhat distinctly but I recall parts of it being cut out. Dreams, even astral traveling, can be hard to deduce.

He makes you go to him. Like a ghost he flits around, leading you to room after room, aisle after aisle until you're in  _his_ zone. He makes you chase him, makes you follow. I'm not sure why but I think it's the sense of luring the fly to the spider's web.

His voice changes when he wants to. It's a crooked tone when he's relaxed. I recall him waiting for me on a stack of old crates. I think I saw some magazines from the 60's from the tiny, wooden slits. 

"Well, it's not often I get someone here!" There's an accent. I can't really distinguish it but it's almost relaxed or lazy. There are some endings or soft "h's" that get carried off into nothing. "You know what you're doin' though, don't ya?" He pointed at the bottle in my hands with one of his fingerblades.

I don't recall answering him but he still responded to maybe a nod of my head.

"I don't like that. You already know how to bring things with you." Interesting. "Maybe you can give me a fight, or at least a good time." I didn't like that. Not at all. Hell, I STILL don't. 

I'm not sure how anything transgressed but I remember him coming around behind me. I only knew because he licked the back of my neck. It was an awful feeling I almost didn't recognize. Wet, sloppy and wrinkled. 

You're welcome for that imagery.

I don't know how but he ended up at my neck when I just saw him lingering in his own wooden crate throne. It was as though he moved as fast as a mirage, or used clones to bleed from the walls. The element of surprise remained the same.

My memories blur but I knew I ran. It's not like I can face him head-on but I also panicked. There's nothing in that realm but swollen red walls and screaming pressure valves. Touching anything burns the fingers and bumping into the slightest hot coil left red marks. 

He called out without hesitation to my fear. "Ya gonna run?" His amusement was clear. "Runnin' like a little pig like the rest of them? No good, bitch!"

It's all I can recall after that. His voice darkened, deepened at his own beck and call.

The water bottle is still on my bedside, long after the night and unused. It was in my hands, the cap leaking, when I woke up from the run. It was all I could remember, save for the sweat that embedded itself into my pajamas. I was forced to wash it that day and sit naked in front of a fan.

Sometimes I wonder if going back again is worth it.

Sometimes the pain in my feet come back in memory and tells me that it's probably best if I don't.

I wouldn't know.

I'm tired...


	3. Chapter 3

Entry #3

 

Camp Crystal Lake

 

Don't you hate it when you're trying to sleep and you wake up wet like you just took a dive into a pool?

That's literally what it felt like when I astral traveled to Camp Crystal Lake. 

I managed to binge watch the first few movies of the Friday the 13th movies. A good classic, coupled with really dumb horror cliche's and an interesting take on horror after the release of Halloween '78. Just a nice slasher film with a good ol' kick to a plot twist here and there. 

Camp Crystal has a wonderful lake. It really does gets it title from the water around the premises. 

It's dark. Dark all the way to the bottom, no matter if it's day or night. I would know, I went during at 9:00am because I got so damn curious. I couldn't help it, especially after I realized that I probably could go, right?

As soon as you get there, it's warm. Summer warm. There are cicadas buzzing violently, trying to find a way to have their songs ringing in your head for years to come. Fireflies wink as they pass over the cold water of the lake, their little lights reflecting sweetly off the rippling water that is only moved by the wind. Otherwise, it's still enough to where the moon can shine upon it and not even lose its form. The water tension is as still as a corpse. 

Off to the side and laying on the sandy shore were old boats, abandoned and wrinkled from time in several spots. Where they had once been parked at for a safe voyage into the water was not too far away to properly be just pushed into the lake. They shoreline had receded away, giving the boats a slow build up to becoming festered with grass as green as your hated neighbor. 

Honestly, if I had the chance, this place would be visited  _daily._ It's so pretty, open and it's got the life of a camp. The only thing that appears wrong is how still the lake is.

Gee. I fucking wonder why.

Despite how this place is basically brought down to be anything but a comfortable living space for summer, it's wonderful.

It was too peaceful to the point I literally looked for Jason, albeit timidly. Who knew where the hulk of a man was. And there was no way I was just going to off into the goddamn woods, step on a bear trap, or manage to get my head caught between a couple of branches ready for the nearest axe.

No thanks. You can do that for yourselves.

But I do want to mention the woods. 

They're fucking massive, okay?

The trees stretched to great lengths, as if to showcase that there was something sinister lurking behind each branch. A corpse was probably, at this point, lodged in the limbs of each pine tree in the area. Sometimes I wondered if there were real limbs of rotting victims still dangling like a broken tree branch. Honestly, I still do. You can't see anything at night and anything strange that was there during the deadliest hours- well, it wasn't there when morning came.

It's haunting, foreboding and it just tells the tale of who was stalking the woods. 

Maybe I'll go back a third time and lurk around for Jason myself.

Third times the charm, right?

Maybe it's third times the charm I'll get an axe to the face. 

Probably. 


	4. Chapter 4

Entry #4

 

Freddy fucking sucks, okay?

You should know that by now. Even if you don't watch the movies, you know Freddy's a grinning gremlin that just loves to fucking flick his filthy little  _fingerblades_ to taunt you or to prove a point. 

But I've never slept right ever since I dragged myself through his domain. Sometimes I just wake up so hot I can barely breathe and have to turn my fan on high. Other times I feel the need to just take an early morning shower and I am the opposite of a morning person.

I have a dream catcher. Cleansed it too. It's not working.

I've brought holy water again. Not working.

For fuck's sake, I've started to try lucid dreaming and I can't get a grasp on it.

So I've tried something else just to keep this damn man off of me. Desperate life sucker.

I think I'm going to try and get more information on someone else that can probably help me.

How does the Babadook sound?

I can at least fight  _that_ in comparison to finger-licking Krueger. But right now, I need something sturdy, a beast that can help me find solid ground when I'm asleep or, to at least, help me sleep. It's time to do some more research.

Who knows? Maybe there'll be more horrors I can meet.

~~Wow, I'm a terrible person.~~

But before that, I'm going to try to just get somewhere ELSE in my sleep. 

I guess I'll go back to Camp Crystal Lake?


End file.
